


Pursuit of Happiness

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: American Revolution, F/F, Friendship, Genderswap, Historical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-12
Updated: 2011-10-12
Packaged: 2017-10-24 09:52:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/262126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While visiting France in the summer of 1776, Belarus finds her passions—political and otherwise—ignited by a revolutionary America.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pursuit of Happiness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VampirePaladin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VampirePaladin/gifts).



> Possible alternate history, depending on your understanding of Belarus's history.

_June 1776 - Paris, France_

This is not Natalia's first visit to Paris, of course—she was here for her studies not so long ago—but she thinks that no matter how many times she comes here, it will always take her breath away. It's not just the beauty of the people, the fashion, the architecture. All of that is beautiful, of course, and almost certainly would be on its own to anyone: but it is more beautiful to Natalia because every rustled-silk step the people of Paris take, every marble archway they linger under or stone footbridge they stroll across, the very air around them and every breath they take of it is infused with their own identity—with the very essence of the strong and independent nation of France. More than anything, she wants that for her own people some day: to call themselves Belarusian as more than an ethnography, as a unique and definable nation, separate from the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth and anyone else who has or might claim her within their borders.

That day is not today, though. With a sigh, she decides not to dwell upon that and to let herself enjoy her visit to beautiful Paris. She does not want to say that Francis's people are more beautiful than her own; otherly beautiful, then. As she waits for Francis at one of the little cafés he is so fond of, she lets her gaze wander the lovely ladies and gentlemen, clad in the latest fashions (so unlike Natalia's own customary frock; the dress Francis had presented to her when she arrived was as gorgeous and current as any the ladies here were wearing, but Natalia had politely declined in favor of comfort and familiarity—besides, as equally as fashion defines Francis, her traditional garments help Natalia define herself), sipping coffee and liquid chocolate from far corners of the world.

A unique aroma—not coffee or chocolate or any of the floral and other perfumes Francis's people are famous for—drifts through the café. Natalia can't identify it and wonders if she's ever experienced such an scent. She shifts in her seat, turning her head, and, though she cannot say how the knowledge comes to her, she knows of a certainty who the scent is coming from as soon as she sees the young lady in the gown of red, white, and a silken blue as bright as her eyes.

As elegant as the gown is, there is a distinct lack of grace as the young lady moves. She is not awkward, exactly, but she looks unaccustomed to walking in such garments, and yet she is unselfconscious about her lack of finesse. It is this that makes Natalia keep looking; out of the corner of her eye, she senses she is not the only one who has taken notice, though most of the Parisians are turning away again after a cursory glance. Natalia doesn't know how anyone could look away. She didn't know there were people such as this in the civilized world: she thought one had to be strong and elegant or stick to the shadows, but this young woman walks openly, coaxing beams of sunlight to her and tangling them up in her golden hair, as if it is her birthright.

The young woman comes to a stop, tilts her head and squints, then raises an ungloved hand and holds a pair of what appear, oddly, to be opera glasses to her eyes. She lowers them almost immediately and, in a most unladylike fashion, breaks into a wide smile and offers a wildly broad wave to someone off to Natalia's right. Before Natalia can turn to see who it is, there's a burst of familiar laughter and Francis comes into her field of vision, adroitly weaving through the café's patrons as he crosses to the young woman. They exchange formally affectionate kisses on each cheek before Francis turns to survey the café. With a smile and genteel nod, he acknowledges Natalia when he spots her, then offers his arm to the young woman as the two of them start over to her.

When they reach her, Francis lifts her hand from the table and bows to brush her knuckles with his lips. She snatched her hand away the first time he did it, years ago; she still wants to every time, but she's learned to hold still and accept it.

"Natalia Arlovskaya, may I present to you my dear friend, Miss Alice Jones," Francis says as he straightens, releasing her hand.

Her palm has barely touched the table when Natalia finds it lifted again, the lips of Miss Alice Jones grazing her knuckles. "How do you do?"

Natalia is too surprised to respond. Francis, though, snorts with amusement. "Alice, darling one," he says, lowering the hand he'd covered his mouth with in an attempt to hide his laughter, "did Arthur teach you nothing at all?"

"I sure as heck hope not!" Alice grins—not a sweet and refined smile but a _grin_ , wide and untamed—as she seats herself without waiting for Francis to pull out her chair for her. Natalia glances at Francis for his reaction, but he is only shaking his head with an indulgent smile. Realizing she's gaping, Natalia promptly shuts her mouth as she looks again at Miss Alice Jones, who is expressing admiration for an establishment that serves hot drinks with not a tea leaf in sight.

Alice's accent is unfamiliar. But the Arthur that Francis referred to must be Arthur Kirkland—England; Francis spoke his name with that special tone even Natalia, who has not spent much time in his company, can recognize. When their hands touched, Natalia knew undeniably that Alice is like her—or rather that they are of the same ilk, if not exactly like one another. She knows England has charge of a set of twins, but she thought they were both boys—Matthew Williams and the newly famous revolutionary, Alfred F. Jones, the one everyone is starting to talk about. Is this an unsung sister, then? Or could Alfred be disguising himself as a woman, perhaps in an effort to avoid England's detection while in Europe?

Natalia eyes Alice furtively as she sips her coffee, hardly tasting the rich darkness she was savoring moments before. Alice is certainly beautiful enough of face to be a woman, though it's also true that Natalia has met men beautiful enough and more beautiful in some cases. She dares a downward glance: Alice's bosom, displayed by the deep cut of her brocaded gown, isn't as ample as Natalia's dear-held sister's, though the rhythmic rise and fall with each breath, the rhythm interrupted now and then by laughter, is quite lovely.

There's nothing for it but to be direct. When there is a lull in conversation that signals an impending change in its direction, Natalia seizes the opening. "Miss Alice, are you by chance related to Alfred F. Jones?"

Alice's brows arch; she and Francis exchange a look; Francis nods.

Turning a wickedly charming smile on Natalia, Alice leans in confidentially, so close Natalia fancies she can feel the air between them move with the deliberate flutter of Alice's lashes. Hand cupped to her mouth, shutting out eavesdroppers and the rest of the world, Alice says in a hushed but energetic tone, "I _am_ Alfred F. Jones!"

She leans back, looking extremely pleased with herself, and takes a drink of unseemly and possibly manly length from the sipping chocolate that has been delivered to their table. She smiles, apparently content to be the object of Natalia's impolitely intense gaze.

Natalia feels her brow furrow and makes an effort to smooth out her expression as she seeks confirmation: "So you are a man?"

"Well, that's what the Sons of Liberty think." A conspiratorial wink. "It's easier that way. I don't think they'd fight as hard for me if they knew I'm a girl."

"They know who you are?" Natalia knows many nations have revealed themselves to their leaders, but she has not considered such a thing for ones who are less than nations if more than human.

"Some of them," Alice says. "The ones who need to. Everyone else just knows me as one of them."

Natalia finds herself leaning forward now. "Do you fight with them? Side by side on the battlefield?" Most nations have fought in battle, side by side with their people, and it is not the exclusive province of men—but still, there is something new and _exciting_ about Alice.

"Of course!" As Alice starts to regale them with tales of the demonstrations and battles she's been in over the past year or so (Francis, who has heard the stories before, seems almost as engrossed at the retelling), Natalia thinks she knows what Alice's unique and intriguing scent is: she smells like idealism and action, like the honest work beneath glory, like freedom and independence.

The sun has arced overhead and curved into its descent by the time Francis excuses himself from their company, promising to see both of them on the morrow. Natalia cannot help the sinking in her heart when she realizes this wondrous conversation is coming to end—and then feels herself soar when Alice suggests that they stroll together by the Seine awhile.

The setting sun dances off the water, reflecting in soft colors on their skin as they walk along the water's edge, bathing Alice's face in shimmers as she speaks to Natalia of self-evident equality, unalienable rights; about life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

All the things Natalia thought before are confirmed in her bones: she has never met anyone like Alice because there has never been anyone like Alice. "The pursuit of happiness"—has anyone ever said such a thing, let alone sought it? As she walks beside Alice, Natalia is moved by the desire to join this extraordinary quest, to aid the one questing.

Her hand closes in a fist of determination. When it doesn't close on air and curl around itself as expected, she looks down to see she and Alice have been walking hand in hand. She doesn't remember when their arms unlinked and their hands slipped down to find each other. She hasn't held hands with anyone except her beloved sister and once-beloved brother, and then not with them for some time. This is not like that. This is not like anything~

This is like Alice.

A blush steals up beneath Natalia's skin as she realizes how tightly she is holding Alice's hand, but then the shameful heat melts into warmth that swirls through her blood when Alice squeezes back.

Though Natalia also doesn't know exactly when this happened, the gradual fall of night is complete now. The stars don't glimmer in Alice's hair the way the sun did, but there's still a twinkle in her eye as she bids Natalia a good night. "It's been a real pleasure, honest and true, to meet you," Alice says. "I don't know if we'll have the chance to meet again before I go back home—I have a lot of people to see, to make an impression on." Natalia looks at her moonlit smile and doesn't see how Alice could ever fail to make an impression. "I'm kind of counting on Francis and I probably shouldn't. I just hope someone decides to aid me, even if he doesn't—even if he does, in fact. I can use all the support I can get!"

"I will help you." As soon as Natalia hears the words from her own lips, she realizes how absurd and presumptuous they are. What can she, who has no resources of her own, who does not even have borders of her own—what can she possibly do for Alice's pursuit of happiness?

Before Natalia can make an apology, Alice smiles, brighter than any star in the sky. Her face comes closer and closer, just as it did when they first met that lifetime of hours ago, and Natalia wonders what marvelous secret she will disclose this time.

Alice's lips part, and she moves closer still, and this is the secret:

Kiss.

Neither of them speaks another word as they go their separate ways. Natalia cannot stop thinking, though, about Alice. About America, and how she might put herself in service to America and America's world-changing dream.

 

The next day, as arranged, Francis Bonnefoy meets with the American emissary Silas Deane. Before they discuss details of aid being requested and offered, he wishes to present one Tadeusz Kościuszko, a brilliant young engineer from the Belarusian region of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth who has studied throughout Europe and who, more importantly, greatly desires to be of service to the American War for Independence.

Mr. Deane, in turn, introduces his aide, Alfred F. Jones. As Mr. Jones and Mr. Kościuszko greet one another, Mr. Jones lingers in the handshake and squeezes Mr. Kościuszko's hand in a most ungentlemanly way, which Mr. Kościuszko is gracious enough to return while fighting down the rising heat of a blush. With a wink that no one else sees, Mr. Jones offers Mr. Kościuszko a wickedly charming smile as he says, "Welcome to the revolution, my friend. Happy to have you, for real and true."

**Author's Note:**

>   
> 
> 
> * In reading about the history of Belarus, I came across conflicting information. I settled on Belarus being a region and distinct ethnography, though not a nation, at the time of this fic (1776). If that is incorrect, please consider this alternate history.
>   
> 
> * In the first half of 1776, the American merchant/politician/diplomat [Silas Deane](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Silas_Deane) was dispatched to France to solicit aid for the Revolutionary War. 
>   
> 
> * [Tadeusz Kościuszko](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tadeusz_Ko%C5%9Bciuszko) was an engineer from the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, who trained in France and Germany. He was dedicated to the principles of democracy and equality, and is considered a "hero of the American Revolution." After initially volunteering with the Continental Army, he later became a commissioned officer, whose fortifications and strategies are credited with helping turn the tide of the war in America's favor at Saratoga. In 1794, he led the failed [Kocsiucsko Uprising](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ko%C5%9Bciuszko_Uprising), an attempt to liberate the Polish Lithuanian Commonwealth from Russian influence. As for his association here with Belarus, which was one of the main features of the request: Kocsiucsko was born in and, by the time of the 1794 uprising, had returned to the part of the Commonwealth that later became Belarus. 
>   
> 
> * Finally, deliberate anachronism alert: opera glasses had not been invented in 1776.
>   
> 


End file.
